


If

by Kizzykat



Category: Alexander (2004), Alexander and Hephaestion - Fandom
Genre: F/M, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-15
Updated: 2015-02-15
Packaged: 2018-03-13 03:53:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3366758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kizzykat/pseuds/Kizzykat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alexander daydreams in Babylon. Sloppy stuff.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If

If…..

 

By Kizzikat

 

Alexander wandered restlessly around his bedroom in Babylon, biting at his thumbnail. Hephaestion was over in the women’s quarters where his wife was giving birth to her first child, and Alexander hadn’t been able to settle to anything all afternoon. He had tried dealing with some correspondence, but the words had just kept dancing around the page. So he’d tried playing a board game with one of the Pages, but he’d played so execrably that the poor Page had been cringing with embarrassment at beating the King so easily.

 

He’d called quits on that and sat about for a bit and had tried playing his favourite game with himself of ‘what shall I conquer next?’ but had got stuck on the question of Sicily. After Arabia, they’d move on Carthage, but once they’d dealt with the city, did they deal with the Greek colonists in Sicily next – and then perhaps move onto Italy – or did they bypass Sicily and head to the Pillars of Heracles, circle round and come down on Italy from the north, leaving Sicily until last? But what if the Sicilians then attacked the garrison at Carthage in their rear? It was within striking distance and could expose their rear.

 

He couldn’t decide and knew they would have to consider it carefully, maybe even come up with something new such as a double-pronged attack as he wandered out onto the balcony. He stood and looked down over the gardens, wanting to go down to the women’s quarters, but not wanting his presence there as king to distract from Hephaestion’s first importance as the father of the child. Yet it was his royal niece or nephew being born over there: he had a right to be there too. But he didn’t want to rob Hephaestion of the pleasure of delivering the news himself once he was certain all was well with his wife and babe.

 

Alexander knew exactly how he would be feeling, the same as he had felt when his queen Statira, the sister of Hephaestion’s wife, had been giving birth to his own son Philipos four months ago. He had been a bundle of nerves ever since they’d brought him the news that his child was finally on its way, and this was Hephaestion’s first child. Every day for the last month or so, he had been to enquire about his young wife’s state of health, taking Drypetis a treat or a trinket to divert her, telling her stories and reading to her to relieve the discomfort of the heavy child, and constantly questioning her doctor.

 

Yet Alexander knew that a woman’s first child tended to take a long time to arrive, or so everyone had informed him in Statira’s case. Therefore he’d tried to keep Hephaestion occupied this morning and out of the women’s way. They had quite enough to cope with at the birth of a royal baby without an anxious father fussing about like an old mother hen and wanting to know what was going on. So he’d taken Hephaestion down to the stables, but he hadn’t wanted to leave the palace and go riding. They’d inspected the horses instead, feeding their favourites some of the wizened apples left over from last year. Alexander still missed Bucephalus, but there were plenty of his offspring about, even if they weren’t a patch on their sire.

 

Then they’d joined a group of stablelads who were playing a game of quoits out the back, but a crowd had begun to gather to watch, and Hephaestion’s heart wasn’t in it. So they’d wandered through the royal gardens beside the lily ponds where Hephaestion had selected some roses to send to his wife. They’d sat to eat beside the water, but Hephaestion had been getting more and more distracted, sending messengers to find out the news, even though he’d left multiple instructions that he was to be fetched the moment the child was born.

 

Alexander had relented and finally told him he could go, and now it was his turn to be nervous. Since the weddings at Susa, he had often teased Hephaestion about how solicitous he was of his young wife. Hephaestion had replied quite seriously that it was his duty with such a young wife to show her that she was loved and cherished and that she was safe in his care. If he showed her that he treasured her, it would teach her how to love their children so that they would grow straight and pure.

 

Alexander had stopped teasing him after that, feeling he was a poor substitute for a husband himself. He was well aware that in a state marriage dislike could settle in, and Hephaestion had seen the enmity grow between Alexander’s parents. Yet he was also aware that Hephaestion was teaching himself to love the girl, trying to loosen the ties that bound his heart to Alexander’s. And he was trying to emulate the love that Alexander had felt for Roxanne.

 

Roxanne. Since her son had died in India and she had then lost her first importance to Alexander’s royal Persian wives Stateira and Parysatis, she had become bitter. In the harem, even though she was the wife of the king, she ranked lower than Hephestion’s wife Drypetis, a Persian princess. It hadn’t helped that Stateira had given birth to a healthy boy, and Parysatis, Alexander’s third wife but also a Persian princess, was likely to give birth before Roxanne’s second child arrived. Even if her child was a boy, Alexander wasn’t sure it would satisfy Roxanne as it would be the youngest of his children. He would have to find a way to show her he loved her.

 

Not that he felt that Hephaestion was in love with his wife yet, but she was gaining a hold in his heart, because Hephaestion was letting her.

 

And Alexander was glad that Hephaestion was letting someone else into his heart, so that he would have someone to be comfortable with in later years, even if it was a familial love, more like that of a brother or father. He would have a home.

 

Alexander lay down on his bead and closed his eyes, imaging the future with their families around them, sons and daughters who bore Hephaestion’s eyes, who would marry his own children by his other wives.

 

The door opened and Alexander sat up quickly as Hephaestion came into the room. With bated breath Alexander stared at him, but Hephaestion looked washed out and pale and Alexander couldn’t tell from his expression whether the news was good or bad. “Well?” he breathed.

 

Hephaeston stopped uncertainly, his fingers extended towards the bedspread as though he needed support. With a lop-sided grin, he said “I have a son.”

 

With a squeal of delight, Alexander flew off the bed, threw his arms around his shoulders, and kissed his cheek. “And are they both well?” he asked breathlessly.

 

“Yes, yes,” Hephaestion said. He looked completely windblown. “They are the most beautiful creatures in the world.”

 

Alexander laughed, kissing him again. “Oh, I am so happy for you,” he said. Hephaestion put his arms around his neck and Alexander wrapped his arms around his ribs and waist and pulled him close for a precious moment.

 

“I’ve already named him Alexandros,” he said against Alexander’s hair.

 

“Thank you, thank you,” Alexander said, hugging him tight. “You didn’t have to. Don’t you want to name him after your father?” He drew back to see Hephaestion’s rely.

 

With a smile, Hephaestion let his arms slide down and said, “Didn’t I once tell you I would marry a princess, and all our sons would be called Alexander?”

 

“You did,” Alexander said with a grin. “But come, come, sit down. You look quite overcome.” He drew him towards the cushioned couch beneath the window, hoping the fresh air would revive Hephaestion who was still pale.

 

They settled and Alexander let his hands linger on Hephaestion’s forearms. “You didn’t, didn’t witness the birth, did you?” he asked anxiously, seeking a reason for Hephaestion’s paleness.

 

“No,” Hephaestion said with a smile. “The women would be scandalised, and it would impair Drypetis’ dignity. I wouldn’t do that to her. But I heard her.”

 

“I know, I know. It’s a hard business.”

 

“Stateira assures me her sister is well: just tired.”

 

With a soft smile, Alexander said, “She knows from experience.”

 

“I have never seen a young woman look so tired and yet so beautiful, Alexander. She looked so happy she glowed. And so proud. Yet she didn’t blame me for what she had been through. She sought my approval as she raised her child to me from her bed. As though I meant something.”

 

His eyes misty, Alexander took his friend’s face in his hands and placed a kiss on his lips. “Shush. You are over emotional yourself. It is a wondrous moment when life comes into the world. Women’s hearts are depthless in their capacity to love, and your wife has had her eyes opened to those depths today. And you have seen it through her eyes.”

 

Hephaestion stared at Alexander, his incredulous heart naked in his eyes, unable to speak. He pressed his lips together to still their tremor and Alexander sealed them with a kiss. He drew back, watching Hephaestion with all the love he felt shining in his eyes.

 

“I do love you,” Hephaestion whispered.

 

His smile widening, Alexander placed a finger against his lips. “Let us wet the baby’s head, and welcome him into the world, and pray that one day he will be a man to equal his father.”

 

Hephaestion drew a breath to protest, but subsided as Alexander turned towards the small circular table beside the couch on which stood elegant long-necked silver ewers containing water and wine.

 

“Is there sherbet?” Hephaestion asked, trying to sound normal.

 

“You can’t toast your son with sherbet,” Alexander said, pouring neat wine into two silver beakers. He turned, passing one to Hephaestion as he raised his own.

 

“Here’s to your son,” Alexander said. “May he grow strong and brave of heart. May he grow in honour and virtue all the days of his life. May the gods love him, and may his greatest gift be to make his father proud.” With a smile, Alexander touched his beaker against Hephaestion’s and drained it. He stood and poured the last few droplets onto the floor. “Zeus protect him,” he said solemnly and bowed his head in respect.

 

Hephaestion had stood as Alexander did and he also poured the last drops of wine onto the floor. “Zeus protect him” he echoed quietly. “And Zeus protect my king too.”

 

Alexander raised his head in surprise, his heart swelling with love as he stared at Hephaestion. He took a deep breath before he choked. “Artemis shall have the dozen white bullocks I promised her for the safe birth of your son.” He threw himself onto the couch, lying back against the cushions under the window. “And I shall need to assault the ears of all the goddesses next year, so that your next child might be a girl.”

 

Hephaestion lay down beside him on the couch and crawled close with a mischievous smile. “Any why might that be?”

 

Alexander looked at him for a moment with wide eyes. “So that one day, with your permission, and when she is quite old enough, I might marry her.”

 

Hephaestion smiled. “But I’ve told you, Drypetis and I are only going to have sons. All called Alexander. To serve my king.”

 

“Yes, but if you did...”

 

Hephaestion shook his head with a teasing smile. “Not going to happen.”

 

Alexander’s face fell. “You mean, if you had a daughter, you wouldn’t let me marry her? But we wouldn’t be related by blood, so it would be alright. And our children would be your grandchildren. They would be yours and my heirs.”

 

A resigned look appeared on Hephaestion’s face as he rested against Alexander. “Alexander, do you really think that I am going to let my daughter marry you? You will be an old man. You will be nearing fifty.”

 

A look of affront flitted across Alexander’s face. “I will still be in my prime! Look at all the men in the Silver Shields who are in their fifties and sixties.”

 

Hephaestion simply stared at him and Alexander stared back into his eyes, slowly reading what he saw there. A shudder went through him as though someone had walked across his grave.

 

“You are right,” he said, his eyes clouding. “I would not wish to make a fool of myself like my father. Nor would I wish to inflict myself on a young girl who must dream of a handsome, young husband.”

 

Hephaestion reached out a hand and tentatively tweaked a fold of Alexander’s garment between his finger and thumb. “It was not that I was thinking of,” he said quietly. He raised his eyes to Alexander. “It was the trouble it would cause at home: amongst your other wives. And their sons.”

 

Alexander almost caught Hephaestion’s face in gratitude and understanding, but Hephaestion had not finished speaking. His voice was solemn.

 

“They would be almost grown. Old enough to think about deposing their father if they felt threatened as your heirs. It would be too dangerous to you.”

 

Alexander’s heart began to labour. “Yes,” he said thickly. For a long moment he and Hephaestion stared at each other with growing grimness.

 

With a sense of impending defeat from disaster, Alexander laid his head back amongst the cushions, staring at the ceiling. “I wish I had not killed my brothers when my father died,” he said heavily. “Caranus would be here now, a grown man, a trusted commander who could be my heir, perhaps with sons of his own. My other brothers would be his deputies, the gods willing they had survived over the years. I would have a ready-made family who would care for my sons if anything happened to me, who would carry on my father’s legacy. The army would accept them without hesitation, and it would all not have been in vain. It would not all have been for nothing.”

 

He was silent. Cool air from the window wafted across his cheeks and heavy drops of summer rain spattered on the window ledge. There was no sound from Hephaestion, no movement, as though he was not there.

 

He was not. He never would be again. Alexander stared with sightless eyes at the gilded ceiling of cedarwood. It was all a daydream. Hephaestion was gone.

 

He waited while the familiar tide of grief welled up. It grew and grew, filing him so full his heart ached with the pressure. He rode the wave of grief like a leaf in a torrent, begging not to be shattered again and again on the jagged rocks of heartbreak. It would leave him stranded on the desolate shore of loneliness.

 

The wave did not break over him this time. It stilled enough to allow him to swallow and wipe at the tears that had leaked from his eyes, but he could not unclamp his jaw or he would drown.

 

He had no family, no refuge or comfort. All he had was the unborn child growing in Roxanne’s belly, whom the army would never accept, and two Persian wives waiting for him to give them a child. He would never see Hephaestion’s eyes in his child, he would never see their sons grow and play together.

 

Hephaestion would never be there to set him right again, to make sure he didn’t give in to his own foolishness. Yet Hephaestion was calling to him across the sea of memory, tugging at his heartstrings. And he didn’t know how to reach him except by ripping his heart open and letting his imagination build what dreams it would. He prayed that such dreams were not lies and that they would show him the way to keep Hephaestion alive in his heart, would show him the truths Hephaestion held in his heart, truths he could cling to like the mast of a ship driven in a tempest of despair.

 

The storm would wreck him and he would drown if could not cling to the broken mast.

 


End file.
